


Pass the Ammo

by foxtales



Series: You Could Make a Killing [1]
Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Crack, Gen, Mercenaries, SO MUCH CRACK OMG, Unusual Side Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22141882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtales/pseuds/foxtales
Summary: What if Top Gear was a front for mercenary organizations and the boys were really great at their side job which happened to involve killing folk?
Relationships: Gen., Top Gear - Relationship
Series: You Could Make a Killing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612495
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2008 Two Lines Challenge on lj.

constant entertainment for our restless minds  
constant stimulation for epic appetites  
-against me!, don't lose touch

Somewhere along the French Border with Spain:

" _Stick to single shots, Jez, we're running low on ammunition._ "

Jeremy Clarkson released the breath he'd been holding when the tinny voice sounded on the ear piece. "Thought I'd lost you back there, May."

" _Take more than amateurs like those to get rid of me._ "

Jeremy smiled at the smugness that shone through the disembodied voice in his ear. "Whatever you say, mate," he drawled as he dispatched the last of the men who'd been sent after him. "Right. If you've finished with yours, that's the last. Meet up at that _cantina_ we saw back down the road a ways?"

" _See you there._ "

Jeremy carefully packed up his weapon, his thoughts focusing on his partner. He'd been the luckiest man around when he and Wilman had interviewed James May for co-presenter of Top Gear; not only had James improved the show's chemistry, Jeremy had eventually found that they shared a love of and talent with guns. This had made James an obvious recruit for the Agency in Jeremy's eyes. It had been a shame about Hammond not having any propensity for weaponry, but otherwise Jeremy might never have met James. He'd never minded working alone, but having a partner to back him up just made sense, really.

He grinned at the thought of the pint he'd soon be drinking as he closed the weapon case. Some days he really considered that he had the best jobs in the world.

Jeremy couldn't help but laugh when he arrived at the _cantina_. James was sat at the table with two frothy pints already in front of him.

"Pre-emptive strike," James said, grinning.

"Good man," Jeremy replied, sitting and lifting his glass. "To another success."

James clinked his glass against Jeremy's. "Only time for one, unfortunately. We'll have to get back to the hotel in short order. Wouldn't want Richard to figure out we're not actually taking an extra long siesta," he said, chuckling.

"Poor Hamster," Jeremy laughed. "How boring his life must be."

***

Fucking _hell_ , Richard thought as he raced down the mountain road, his hands white-knuckled around the steering wheel. He was certain that James and Jeremy would be looking for him back at the hotel. Now that the hottest part of the day was over, they'd be in search of a pint or a _sangria_.

He didn't usually need so much time on an assignment, but his target had been heavily guarded and he'd been unable to find a clean shot. He'd had to change into camouflage and apply grease paint before sneaking around the mountainside until he could get close. Once he'd made the hit, he'd had to get back to the car, remove the grease paint, change back into civilian clothes, and burn the camos he'd worn.

He hurtled down the rutted road at a rate that would make even Clarkson's jaded eyes widen, the stolen 1980 Mercedes 200D leaving pieces of itself behind with every hellish bounce. Jeremy would laugh his arse off over that, Richard thought sourly as his head connected with the roof once again. He was going to torture his handler slowly for hours for talking him into this assignment.

It took him another thirty minutes to get within two miles of the hotel. After one last wipe down, he ditched what was left of the Mercedes and ran the rest of the way. He bounded up the stairs to his fifth floor room, undoing his shirt and the top button of his trousers on the way. He managed to get the keycard into the slot first try and had finished stripping off his clothes by the time the door swung closed. He threw the bolt and headed for a shower.

Ten minutes after that, Richard was knocking on James' door. There was no answer, so he went to Jeremy's. There wasn't an answer there either, but he could hear noise inside so he knocked louder. "Clarkson, open the door! I know you're in there!"

He could hear a muffled laugh and then the sound of locks being turned and the bolt being withdrawn before Jeremy's grinning face appeared. "Hammond!"

"Fuck off, Jez," he retorted, pushing his way into the room.

"Please, come in, won't you?" Jeremy said, his eyebrows raised.

"Hello Richard," James said from the chair he was in.

Richard looked back and forth between them. Jeremy's shirt was one button off and James' belt was loose. "Oh, for fuck's sake, have you two been shagging in here all afternoon?"

"No," James said, looking at Hammond as if he'd gone mad.

"Then why is Clarkson's shirt done up wrong? And, really, May, if it were anyone else laying about with their belt undone, I wouldn't give it a second thought, but _you_? Sorry, mate, I can't buy it."

"You have a suspicious mind, Hammond," Jeremy said, grinning. "I can assure you that there was no clothing removal _with intent_ in this room."

"And _I_ can assure _you_ that this man," Richard argued, pointing at James, "could not sit about with his belt unbuckled. It would drive him mental. Look, his face is already squinching up!"

Jeremy looked over just as James, who'd been reaching for the ends of the belt, jerked his hands away guiltily. "Just do up your bloody belt, James. Or maybe I should, since Hammond has _obviously_ figured out our being homosexualists," he said, rolling his eyes.

"I have eyes," Richard asserted.

"And a tiny hamster brain that doesn't seem to be in proper working order. What possible reason is there for me to have sex with _May_ of all people?" Jeremy retorted, gesturing expansively toward James, who spluttered indignantly.

Richard shuddered. "Please don't answer that, either of you. I think I'd have to shoot myself if you did."

"Can't have you handling a gun, Hammond. You'd fuck it up and shoot some old Spanish lady's dog and then the BBC would bitch about having to pay for vet or funeral expenses."

James stopped spluttering and started laughing.

"Twat," Richard said, flicking Clarkson two fingers.

"So. To reiterate. May and I are not shagging like bunnies while you're taking your afternoon nap, end of story. Next topic."

"Next topic involves which form of alcohol we'll be consuming, I should think," James said, his amusement mostly suppressed.

Richard knew there was something going on, but he was unlikely to get anything out of them while they were sober and presenting a united front. He'd bide his time, wait until he had them drunk and arguing over something. Then he'd spring the subject on them and see what came out. He'd find out what was going on, but that was a mission for another time. Now, he was feeling a bit playful. With a small sigh and the tiniest slump of his shoulders, he stepped towards the door. He could see Jeremy and James share a look out of the corner of his eye, and his face suddenly became innocent and angelic.

"Hamster, what, exactly, is going through your head right now?"

"Oh, nothing," Richard replied as he took another step towards the door.

"That look is not 'nothing'," Jeremy said suspiciously, his eyes narrowing as Richard took yet another step, so that he was directly beside Jeremy now.

"Yes it is," he responded in a falsely bright tone, inching to the side to clear Clarkson's bulk, his muscles tensing.

"Hammond, what the fuck-" was all Clarkson got out as Richard suddenly sprinted toward the door. Jeremy made a grab for him, but Richard easily dodged the movement.

"Last one to the _cantina_ shouts the round!" Richard exclaimed gleefully as he pulled open the door and disappeared down the hall.

***

"Christ, he's a quick little bugger," James said as he levered himself out of the chair. He turned to see Jeremy at the door grinning widely back at him. "Play fair,Clarkson."

"See you down there, May. I have a Hamster to catch." He waggled his eyebrows as he stepped through the door and out into the hallway.

An anticipatory smile curved James's mouth as he listened to Jeremy's thunderous progress down the hall. He headed out the door with a spring in his step. Hammond had no idea what he was in for, and James didn't want to miss the fun.  



	2. Pass the Ammo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey to the cantina doesn't go quite as Richard planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically a WIP, but I doubt it will be continued.

Richard took the stairs at a run, knowing there was no way a man of Clarkson's bulk would be able to catch him, not with the lead he had. He kept himself in excellent physical condition - it was a requirement for longevity in his line of work. He imagined Jeremy standing at the elevator bank punching the buttons and shouting at the machines, as if that would hurry them up.

He was still grinning as he hit the lobby without losing stride, enjoying how it felt to run because he wanted to rather than having to in order to survive. It was an added bonus that he would soon be drinking a pint on someone else's shout. He ran out the back of the hotel toward the _cantina_.

Even though he'd been a bit distracted, his training kicked into gear as he caught movement in his peripheral vision, and he dodged mid-stride. The tackle was glancing instead of full-on, but it still knocked Richard to the ground. As onlookers gasped and scuttled out of the way, he rolled, kicking out with his left leg, and quickly twisted round to see - Jeremy Clarkson.

Richard blinked in surprise. Clarkson took advantage by grabbing Richard's left ankle and right wrist, trying to get him rolled up and unable to move. _How the fuck does Jez know how to do that_ , Richard thought as he twisted his hip enough to generate some power when his right knee connected with Clarkson's chest just as he grabbed his left ear and dug his fingernails deep into the skin behind it before jerking down viciously.

"Fucking _hell_ ," Jeremy roared, instantly letting go of Richard's ankle so he could get at the hand on his ear.

Richard wrapped his thighs around Clarkson's hips, and with a quick yet powerful snap of his body, he had Clarkson beneath him, puffs of dust settling around both of them.

He didn't think he'd ever forget the amazement on Jeremy's face. "I like being on top," he taunted.

The amazement faded into resolve, and the next thing Richard knew, he was on his back in the dirt again, Clarkson's weight firmly holding him down.

He opened his mouth, but closed it as an amused voice floated down to them.

"I didn't think your affair would start this publicly," James drawled, grin on his face and mischief in his eyes.

"Fuck off," Richard spat, squirming under Clarkson's bulk.

"I should think you'd do better to address all notions and permutations of 'fuck' to Jezza, seeing as how he's the one on top of you at the moment."

Clarkson laughed. "Admit it, Hammond, you've always wanted to be between my legs."

"While you decide which positions are best for each other, I'll be inside getting the drink one of you will be paying for."

And with that, a very amused Captain Slow stepped around them and headed for the _cantina_.

Richard went still. There was no way Clarkson could get up without releasing him, and he didn't want to really hurt his mate, so he waited for Jeremy to make the next move.

"Think you can get there before me?" Jeremy said, smirking down at him.

"Let me up and we'll find out."

"I believe they refer to this as a standoff. If I let you up, you'll take off, yet we both lose if I stay like this."

"Reckon you'll have to take your chances. It's only a round of drinks."

"Is it?" Jeremy's eyes gleamed with amusement.

Richard grinned. "Not really, mate."

Jeremy took a breath, made his decision and, quicker than Richard would have ever believed possible, heaved himself to his feet. He got two steps before Richard rolled and caught his ankle, pulling him off balance. Leaving Clarkson to right himself, Richard sprang to his feet and sprinted toward the entrance.

Just at the door, Jeremy caught the back of Richard's shirt and yanked him back. Richard grabbed the door jamb and the two of them squeezed through at the same time. James stood just inside sipping a lager and enjoying the show.

"Your shout, Clarkson," Richard said, heading for the bar.

"Mine? The sun has done your brain in, Hammond. We got here same time," Clarkson replied loudly, following.

"My fingers were inside before any of your great bulk. I win."

"What?" Jeremy shouted. "Fingers? I'll cut them off, you little--"

"Relax, chaps," James cut in. "I bought the round. It was worth it to see the two of you look even more buffoonish than usual."

Richard and Jeremy looked at each other, looked at James, then shrugged.

"A drink is a drink," Richard said philosophically.

Jeremy clapped him on the shoulder, a plume of dust going up. "And you're a cheap date these days."

"So round two is on you then," James said, chuckling.

Jeremy grinned. "Why not." He turned back to Richard. "So, Richard, where the hell did you learn to move like that?"

Richard shrugged. "Short kid at school. I got sick of being beaten up by big brutes like you."

Jeremy's sharp gaze told Richard he didn't quite buy the answer, but he didn't ask any more questions about it, so Richard considered the matter dropped. For now.


End file.
